


Aroma

by chooken



Series: Worth Watching [2]
Category: Westlife
Genre: M/M, Scent Kink, Tour Bus, Underwear, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 16:41:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19360759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: Nicky wants Mark to return the favour.





	Aroma

Nicky isn't exactly sure when he decided to make this a habit.

To be fair he's not entirely sure it's his fault. Everyone does it. It's not like he invented having a wank, especially not a sneaky one after everyone else is asleep, though he'd sort of expected that to stop around the time he left shared dormitories at football and tents on school camping trips.

Maybe twenty-five is a bit old for it. Bit old for a few things, like discovering your mostly-probably-sort-of-straightish bandmate likes to listen to you rub one out in the early hours of the morning while speeding down a foreign motorway.

He'd just been sorting himself out. A few months back, when they'd been doing the signing tour, twatting about from place to place with sharpie-stains on their fingers and answering the same questions about Bryan and breakups and bullshit and Nicky had just... needed a minute. To release a bit of pressure in a way that wasn't kicking over a chair and storming out as well.

It was better than staring at the bottom of Shane's bunk and seething. Worrying. Feeling for the first time in ages like this was all happening to him in a way he couldn't control. Had snuck a hand into his boxers and.

And heard a soft moan from across the aisle.

Not even a moan, really. A breath with intent. One that was trying to keep steady in the dark, just in case Mark wasn't the only one awake. One that quickened as Nicky lay there, hand on his cock and wondering why it was at half-mast without so much as a squeeze.

Another breath. Coming closer together. He'd cracked an eye, peered sideways through the gloom lit from beneath by the dim LEDs marking the path on the floor. Turned away. Dark hair caught by the pillow and the curve of a shoulder hidden by a t-shirt, blanket covering everything else.

It had been...

Well.

Wrong. Watching Mark do that. A gross invasion of privacy that wasn't made any better when Nicky had let his own grip match the pace of the shifting elbow he could see denting the blanket. Slow. A deliberate squeeze root to tip, caressing for a moment before starting again at the bottom. A bit like Mark. Unassuming with a little flourish. Not like Nicky who has always had a tendency to run it like a race, looking for the finish line.

So that had been interesting. Weirdly sexy. A side of his bandmate he hadn't thought to look for. The one that whines softly in the back of his throat when he's almost done. The one who spasms for a few moments after, hips jerking and face buried in his arm to stop sensitive moans he hisses through gritted teeth.

The next night Nicky had stayed awake, just to see if it would happen again. Three more nights before it had and he'd lay there, raging hard and urgent against his belly, wondering how many times it took before he was officially crossing a line.

He'd come not long after Mark. Cleared his throat without thinking and seen Mark freeze on the other bunk. Done it again because there was no point pretending. Mark hadn't turned around.

Three weeks later, no repeat performance in sight, Nicky had figured there was no harm in starting things off.

And Mark had lay there, eyes closed, dead to the world except for the slight tilt of his head. Nicky would watch his chest rise and fall a little quicker, then half an hour later hear Mark roll over and wank himself off in the dark, that whimper announcing the end.

Nicky likes it. Likes the secrecy. Likes clearing his throat after the other two have gone to bed and hearing Mark shuffle the sheets until he's laying on his side facing away, hand delving ever downwards.

It's the best sex he's never had, honestly. And after a couple years of being single it's the best sex he's never had in quite a while.

But what's a wank between friends, really?

It's not as if either of them are going to talk about it. It's totally innocent. They're just letting each other get on with a normal bodily function and has nothing to do with the way Mark's eyes darken whenever Nicky clears his throat in interviews and absolutely zero to do with how Nicky watches those thick, clever fingers grip a microphone stand, half a clench and half a caress.

As long as neither of them acknowledge it it's perfectly fine.

So maybe Nicky doesn't know who started it but it's Mark's fucking fault for watching that time, only a week before. For making him whisper Mark's name.

“Nicky.”

“Mm.” For waiting for him to make the next move as though it's Nicky's job to push things along. Not that they need pushing. There's no pushing to be had except it's been a fucking week and he doesn't know if he scared Mark off by that stupid display at breakfast but neither of them have indulged and fuck if Mark doesn't stop looking at him from under lowered lashes he's going to...

“Nicky.”

“Shane.”

“Alright?”

“Thinking. Stop kicking me.” The foot stretched out across the van retreats. They're all still sweaty from the gig. The tour's well under way. Brighton about to be over their shoulders and Glasgow ahead.

“Whose room?”

It's late when Nicky falls onto the mattress. Early. Shane's passed out on his floor. Kian's stumbled out a few minutes before. Mark's watching television, folded lazily in the armchair with the sound low, a mostly-empty bottle of vodka gripped precariously between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, the base rolling a beat against the trousers covering his knee.

He wakes to find the room dark, the TV off. Desperately needs a piss. Light's creeping under the bathroom door and he follows it. Falls against the door and twists the handle at the same time, hoping momentum will throw him into the right position.

Eyes wide. A rabbit in headlights has nothing on Mark.

“Oh. Sorry.” Mark's shoved his hand quickly behind his back. Nicky peers at him. Waits for him to stop wavering.

“Sorry. Yeah. Just... washing my hands.” They're still behind his back. Nicky's bursting so it's not his priority. Still, when he shoves past and starts to unzip Mark sidles out.

The door closes. Nicky hears another one open and close and footsteps scurry in the hall outside.

When he's done shaking off he leans against the sink for a bit of equilbirium before washing his hands. Reaches for a towel and is just sober enough to register something falling out of the folds, hastily stuffed in there if Nicky is any judge.

He scrunches the briefs in his hand. A bit dirty, he'd left them on the floor in the corner when he'd had a shower after the gig. Wonders how they got in there when...

Oh.

_Oh._

He giggles to himself. Can't help it.

Mark doesn't talk to him all that day. That night, all of them knackered and staggering onto the bus, he quietly hears Mark ask Shane if he'd mind switching bunks and feels his heart hurt. Something to do with his back and a spring in the wrong place.

“I'll switch,” Nicky offers quickly. Mark's mouth stutters while Shane thanks him and they all agree that that's sorted then.

“Thanks,” Mark mumbles. Nicky nods.

The pillow smells of Mark. Kian starts to snore first. Soon after Shane stops tossing and turning. Nicky pretends to be asleep. Listens to Mark breathe and wonders if Mark can smell him too.

He's almost nodded off when Mark climbs from the bed and lingers, just beside Nicky. Then he's off. Into the bathroom. Nicky counts. One breath, two. Assures himself that Mark isn't taking care of it in there when he hears the toilet flush and the taps begin to run.

He moves quickly. Is back in bed before the door opens, eyes shut and heart pounding. Mark tiptoes past. Sheets rustle. A dull freeze in the darkness and Nicky counts to three before opening his eyes.

Mark's looking at the briefs. The ones Nicky tossed onto his pillow. Half sat up and eyes blinking like they're not sure it's just the dark playing tricks on him.

Their eyes meet. Nicky nods, cheek rubbing into the pillow. A tongue darts out to wet cherry lips that purse, considering. Then Mark lays down as well. Tugs the blankets up like he usually does. Nicky can feel his heartbeat in his throat. Wonders what it is Mark likes. What Mark had intended to do, in there, Nicky's sweaty undies in his fist.

The briefs are still on the pillow. Nicky doesn't wear underwear very often but they stop his white trousers going see-through in the stage lights.

Mark's hand dips beneath the sheets. Nicky watches. Licks his suddenly dry lips and hears the elastic purr of a drawstring being unlaced. Mark's gaze is still steady. Even while his mouth parts slightly and the tiniest breath escapes.

Even while he tilts his head a little and inhales into the fabric.

 _oh fuck,_  Nicky thinks. Lashes flutter. Mark's elbow moves. At first jostling for the right angle then slowing, settling. A smooth rock that pinches his eyes shut for a second. Nicky gulps.

Watches Mark do the same. Watches him bury his face in sweaty white briefs and do that little moan, the one that's almost silent. Watches him hiccup a shudder while his hand runs that languid routine, base to tip.

Nicky's hard. Fuck he's hard. Can hear the same pulse thrumming in his cock, the one twitching him in his boxers.

“Nicky,” he hears Mark gasp. Swears under his own breath. Can't touch himself for watching this. This goddamn animalistic thing he's started, like throwing bait to a starving dog. And Mark looks starving. Is mouthing against the elastic, eyes blinking too slow but intent and god forbid any scavenger that tries to steal his prize. The one Mark's pinning down and devouring while he fucks his hand beneath the sheets. Owns it. Biting into the nape of a willing mate and taking it, every gasp dragging in the scent.

 _Nn._  Frustrated. Gulping down air. Nicky wonders if Mark can smell the precum he'd leaked in there a week ago wanking in his hotel room, or if it's been washed out in the laundry. Wonders if he can tell Nicky was thinking about Mark while he did it. A moment like this. Though he'd never expected...

He wonders what else Mark likes. If it's just this or if he's a kinky little fucker in ways Nicky never expected. What Mark will think of his own kinks. If he'll feel as hot watching Nicky indulge himself as Nicky does right now.

Mark's eyes scrunch tight then widen, fixing on him. Nicky stares back until he has to blink. Stares again. Catches eyes dropping for the barest moment and realises he's tenting the sheets when Mark lets out a pleased huff, snatches up the briefs with his spare hand and dives it under the sheets.

Fuck. Nicky groans silently. Dips his own hand down while Mark fucks a dirty pair of his pants.

It isn't going to take much. Especially not when, a minute or so later, Mark whimpers. Shudders. Speeds his grip and whimpers again and spasms and buries his face in Nicky's pillow.

Nicky does the same. Breathes in shampoo and sweat and Mark. Works himself off to the slowing gasps from the nearby bed.

They lay there for a while after, looking at each other. Mark is chewing his bottom lip. Beginning to look embarrassed. Nicky's too spent to care.

"Keep 'em,” Nicky whispers, as Mark lifts the soiled briefs from the tangle of the sheets. “All yours.”

Mark sniggers stupidly. Nicky grins back. Reaches for the packet of tissues he keeps beside his mattress and sorts out the mess. When he looks up again Mark's eyes are closed, his breathing regular. Soft and oddly young on his stomach, both arms tucked under the pillow.

Nicky turns in too. There's not much else to do. Not with Kian snoring above him and the bus's engine steadying them towards the next stop.


End file.
